


void

by outofaith



Series: history of melancholia [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Epistolary, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Paranoia, Past Rape/Non-con, Real Life, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 13:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofaith/pseuds/outofaith
Summary: needed to get this out of my chest without being sent to the psych ward





	void

She was drowning. It had been days since the last time she ate, weeks since the last time she showered or brushed her teeth. She wasn’t sure when was the last time she did anything apart from laying on her bed, only moving to walk to the window so she could have a cigarette, and then another one and one more. Her mother would pinch her eyebrows and frown deeply were she to come to her room. The light was never on, it smelled of dirty clothes, stale cigarette’s smoke, spilled alcohol and weeks-old wet towels. The only reason it didn’t stink of sweat was because it was the middle of the winter and the rain never stopped falling in this town on the south of Brazil. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she saw another person, her only company being her kitten who made her get out of the bed to feed her every day. It was exhausting. She talked to her parents, dodged the skype calls or Facetime and insisted on phone calls, but even saying as little as she could was tiring and made her want to sleep for a couple of hours.

That was another thing. Sleep. She couldn’t sleep even though she was desperate to stop the voices and the constant screaming inside her mind. It would only come to greet her when the sun was already rising, only then she would manage to fall unconscious, be it from exhaustion or the sheer amount of substances coursing through her body. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt, to feel something else apart from empty. Whisky made her sleepy, sometimes it made her almost content, weed made her a bit hungry, even though she couldn’t stomach more than a bite or two of dry toast.

She had medication, prescription, too. Strong enough to make her pass out for a few hours and dissociate during the time she was awake. At least then she wouldn’t hear the voices or see the dark figure that wandered around her small bedroom – sometimes it was big enough she couldn’t see anything past it, other times it was very small, laying beside her on her pillow, nevertheless, it was constantly speaking and screaming at her, enough to make her want to rip her ears off just so she wouldn’t hear it anymore.

That particular night, she wasn’t sure what happened. Maybe it was the memories of his hands groping at her, his left hand covering her mouth and the right one spreading her legs apart. Thrusting into her with force, gasping in her ear and panting down her neck. The wet feeling of his release on her belly and down her thighs, mixing with her blood on the sheets below. Maybe it was that. It didn’t matter how much she scratched at her arms or scrubbed herself in the scalding shower until she was red and bleeding, the feeling wouldn’t go away. She could hear his voice in her sleep and see his bearded face out of the window, sometimes in the mirror. Still, it didn’t matter.

She went to the first drawer of her desk and retrieved the bottle of sleeping pills. It was full, she had filled her prescription two days ago. She just wanted the feeling to go away, perhaps sleep for more than a couple of hours a night. One, two, three, it wasn’t enough. Why not half the bottle? Why not all of it? What harm could it do? She just wanted a little break. She needed to wash them down somehow, water was far away and getting out of the floor seemed too much of an effort, her limbs too heavy to do more than reach out to the side. Whisky, then. Half a bottle should do. 

She slept. For more than a couple of hours. A day and a half, woke up with puke down her chest and to her side, her kitten staring at her from her place by her face, meowing and urging her to wake up.

A failure then. She would have to find out a different way to rest. To give her tired mind and aching body a break.

The next week her parents brought her back home, it wasn’t safe for her to be alone.

She did find another way. Tried to rest two more times. The second time she tried her brother got home just before she kicked the chair, the rope rough around her pale neck. The third time they rushed her to the hospital at the last possible moment.

It didn’t work, then.

No matter, she would keep trying. Perhaps one day she would manage to fall asleep and finally get the rest she was so desperate to find. 

She just hoped her mother would look after her kitten.


End file.
